


The King is Dead, Long Live the King

by aralias



Category: Blake's 7
Genre: Epistolary, Gen, Politics
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-27
Updated: 2014-11-27
Packaged: 2018-02-27 05:46:29
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,389
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2681375
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aralias/pseuds/aralias
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Not all the walls have ears in Space Command HQ, but only a fool assumes that none of them do.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The King is Dead, Long Live the King

**Author's Note:**

  * For [executrix](https://archiveofourown.org/users/executrix/gifts).



From: S. Rontane. To: S. Bercol  
Oh, and another thing your department might be interested in – there are rumours that the SC may be stepping down. 

From: S. Bercol. To: S. Rontane  
My goodness. Already? 

From: S. Rontane. To: S. Bercol  
Apparently. No details yet. The situation is still emerging, etc. But what I can tell you is that the President is not at all happy. Something that shouldn’t have happened not only happened, but has also spread to the wrong places. I’m surprised you don’t know about it, actually. 

From: S. Bercol. To: S. Rontane  
The IB _needs_ better spies. I keep telling the High Council - but it’s so difficult to recruit from a drugged population. I mean, who do you choose? The ones who wake up enough to have a bit of spark to them are always criminals or dissidents – exactly the sort of people you _don’t_ want in your intelligence agency!

From: S. Rontane. To: S. Bercol  
Fortunately you’re better at repressing information than you are at gathering it. Lunch?

From: S. Bercol. To: S. Rontane  
I’ll be in the canteen in five minutes.

*

The canteen was noisy and, unlike either Rontane or Bercol’s offices or their communication streams, it probably wasn’t bugged. Nobody had the time or patience to sift through endless meal-time conversations between troopers, who were, on the whole, selected for their obedience, rather than their intelligence. 

Neither Rontane or Bercol actually ate at these meetings, but today Rontane had purchased a mug of tea (undrinkable, of course) and Bercol a steak that he was planning to feed to his dog on his return. For the look of the thing, of course. 

“So what’s really going on?” Bercol asked.

Rontane idly stirred a sugar into his tea. He found it amusing sometimes, in these meetings, to count the number of cubes he’d managed to dissolve into a particular cup - monitoring the saturation point. His personal best was eleven. 

“Naturally this is off the record-”

“Naturally,” Bercol said. 

Rontane glanced around, raised his mug idly to his lips and then put it down again and picked up another sugar cube. He dropped it into the tea.

“The rumours are... that he’s been sleeping with the president’s wife.”

Bercol made a face. “I don’t think that’s very likely.”

“No, nor do I,” Rontane agreed. “She’s hardly left her apartment for three years. You and I know this. The president... also knows this, but he can be touchy about these things.”

“As you would be.”

“Quite,” Rontane said crisply. “Of course, it’s too late to repress the story entirely, since it’s already reached the Inner Chamber, but if you could stop the rest of the council hearing about it that _would_ be appreciated-”

“I’ll see what I can do,” Bercol said. “Do you have an alternate smear-campaign agreed, or should I be creative?” 

“Mass genocide usually works,” Rontane said. He gestured languidly at the troopers surrounding them, chatting and drinking the dreadful coffee. “I can send some of these men out to make it more realistic, if necessary.”

“I’ll let you know,” Bercol told him. He leant forward. “By the way, any idea who started the rumour?”

“We did,” Rontane said. “Or rather you will. Unless you mean the other one. I don’t know who started that one.” He stirred his tea, found grit at the bottom and set it to one side. Only seven. Pity. “As usual we shall have to wait. And see who has the most to gain from the Supreme Commander’s retirement.”

*

From: S. Rontane. To: S. Bercol  
Good work on the matter we discussed the other day – highly convincing. Council devastated, and of course he has to go. Incidentally, nominations are in for the new SC. Thought you’d be interested. See the attached-

From: S. Bercol. To: S. Rontane  
Very interested, thank you. Plenty of recognisable names. Space Command playing it safe, as usual, though I’m surprised Fargo didn’t make the cut. Surely he hasn’t managed to offend the president as _well_? 

From: S. Rontane. To: S. Bercol  
Died out on manoeuvres two days ago.

From: S. Bercol. To: S. Rontane  
Indeed? How unfortunate for him, and just when promotion was in his grasp. In that case, surely Samor is the obvious choice.

From: S. Rontane. To: S. Bercol  
You think so?

From: S. Bercol. To: S. Rontane  
Fascinating. You _don’t_ think so? 

From: S. Rontane. To: S. Bercol  
Perhaps not. Coffee?

*

They met in the corridor this time. There was a coffee machine stationed just a few metres away from the door to Rontane’s office, though he was always careful to walk around the next corner once he’d purchased the foul brew that passed for coffee here. Not all of the walls had ears, but the coffee machines definitely did. It was very easy to hide microphones in amongst the pipes and tubes. Rontane had in fact placed one there himself a few months before. He’d picked up some interesting snatches of conversation about himself – for some reason the fact that the coffee machine was right next to a door marked ‘RONTANE’ made people remember how much they disliked the Secretary. 

“I agree, Samor _should_ be appointed,” Rontane told Bercol, who hadn’t bothered to purchase his own coffee. “He has an outstanding and unblemished record. And he has the right family connections, but...” Rontane let that hang. 

“You don’t think he’ll get it?” Bercol asked, taking the bait. “Has the President said anything?”

“...No,” Rontane said. “But that unblemished record isn’t falsified. Samor is loyal, honest – a fighter, rather than a politician-”

“Not the sort of person who’d spread a rumour about ex-Supreme Commander Dareel and the President’s wife, I take your point. But he could still _benefit_ from someone else’s dirty work-”

Rontane shook his head, smiling slightly. “I don’t think the person who spread that rumour would allow that, do you? If I were Samor I’d be removing myself from the race, before she attempted to discredit me as well. Several of the other candidates have already withdrawn...”

“ _She?_ ” Bercol said. “You said she. Then you suspect someone?”

 _Space Commander Servalan,_ Rontane mouthed. 

“But she’s only a child!” Bercol exclaimed before Rontane quieted him. 

“Exactly. How do you think she rose through the ranks so quickly? She’s competent, of course. Frighteningly competent, but so are other young officers. I think she’s done this before – this is just the first time I’ve noticed it. There’s more, too – who do you think was serving with Fargo up until last week? And who took command of the Galactic Fifth on his demise?”

Bercol’s eyebrows rose. “ _She_ did?”

Rontane nodded as shallowly as he could. “And, of course, she’s very popular at the moment, following the Virriden campaign- Very popular with the President too. You might remember, a few years ago she almost persuaded him to move Control back to Earth-”

“Before you talked him out of it?”

“Yes, but it wasn’t easy,” Rontane said darkly. “And I very much doubt it will get any easier once she’s made Supreme Commander of all of our military forces.”

The reality of their situation seemed to have struck the Head of the Information Bureau at last. 

“Is there anything we can _do_?” Bercol asked. “I mean - perhaps my department could spread a rumour about her, use her own weapons against her-”

“You could. But I’ve been wondering about that,” Rontane said. “It might work, but it might not. And I don’t want to be remembered as someone who tried unsuccessfully to move against Servalan just before she assumed almost unlimited power. I’d much rather still be alive.”

“Well, what should we do then?”

Rontane managed a wry smile. “We’ll do what you and I do best, Senator,” he said. “Dissemble.”

*

From: S. Bercol. To: S. Rontane  
I’ve just heard the news! _Supreme Commander_ Servalan – what an inspired choice. I must congratulate the council next time they’re in session.

From: S. Rontane. To: S. Bercol  
Yes. A sensible appointment that will help usher in another golden age. I’m delighted. And the President was sure to tell me exactly how delighted he was, too.

From: S. Bercol. To: S. Rontane  
Well, how could he be otherwise?

From: S. Rontane. To: S. Bercol  
Indeed. Lunch?

From: S. Bercol. To: S. Rontane  
I’ll be there in five minutes.


End file.
